#tactical chest rig

[jackkandersonn]

With high-quality and adjustable tactical chest rig you can keep your gear secure, easy to reach, and prevent unnecessary movement during high mobility activities.😊

[stephenandus]

Explore Velsyst's collection of military chest rigs and tactical chest rigs designed to meet the demands of professional operators. Our chest rigs offer superior functionality, durability, and adaptability for your mission-critical need

[goatsludge]

I'm sure a couple of you are bored to death of my strike vest replicas, but this one's special, I promise :V

I've made quite a few Strike Vests over the years, and I've always ended up getting rid of the examples I meant to keep for myself, but this is one that I think is gonna be staying with me.

I based this one off an example that used to be on display at the Fayetteville Airborne and Special Operations Museum - unlike a majority of Gen.1 Strike Vests, this particular example was fitted with Fastex QR-1 Buckles as opposed to the typical SR-1.

On top of sourcing a set of these scarce buckles, an SADF P83 Rucksack was cannibalized to get just enough vintage nutria brown Cordura fabric to complete this rig (a huge PITA ftr, please don't ask me to do this for you).

As usual, all the other materials used on this rig include the correct MIL-T-5038 T/4 webbing, C.S. Osborne #00 Brass Grommets, and light OD Green MIL-W-5664 Cotton Elastic Tape.

Gen.1 Strike Vests of a similar pattern can be seen worn by SSG Daniel Busch and by an unknown operator next to SFC Randy Shughart in one photo.

This got finished a little too late to post on 10/3, but it's the thought that counts 💪

[kiltedveteran]

I spent 20+ years in the army and ran this loadout on deployments. Gen 1 D3CR rig, wings with kydex inserts for 2 mags each. It was modified to use tubes (same as on plate carrier cummerbund). My plate carrier has the same pouch setup on the cummerbund.

Right Wing: 2 rifle mags, PVS14 padded pouch, cat7 w/sharpie

Left Wing: 2 rifle mags, Cat7, double mag pouch (extra mags or water bottle

Main rig: Admin pouch on backside w/cheat book, notebook, map markers. 4 rifle mags, 2 pistol mags, compass, whistle, earpro, lens wipes, mini paints/sharpies, litefighter gloves, duct tape, lighter, Gerber multitool.

Roll1 IFAK pouch: Army IFAK + Gerber shears. (recently added the pouch) I like the fast deployment of the Ifak and the pouch retention on the items.

[nocternalrandomness]

”Insurgent”

[platecarrier740]

Best Plate Carrier vests

Complete Guide and Reviews

[attackcopterblog]

Explore the MFT Chest Plate ACHRO Harness by Mission First Tactical

Mission First Tactical has introduced their new MFT Chest Plate & ACHRO harness in their latest kit release. Mission First Tactical states ” Mission First Tactical (MFT), manufacturers of state-of-the-art holsters, firearm accessories and EDC bags, is proud to announce the new MFT Chest Plate and ACHRO™ Harness. Designed for the modern sportsman, the ACHRO™ Chest Pack & Harness is a versatile…

[deadby2091]

My Chest Rig

The RECONDO Chest Rig (Full Size Deep Recon/Sustainment)

Wide Shoulder Straps H-harness Type & Cable Management

4 - slotted Kangaroo Mag Pouches 

3 - triple Mag Pouches 

Map / Land Nav / Admin Kangaroo Pouch 

Two Large General purpose Pouch with MOLLE 

Two Nalgene Bottle Pouch / Radio Pouch 

Radio Pouch (Fits 148 MBITR / 152 / 163 / BAOFENG)

Front Dangler Medical Pouch with MOLLE for tourniquets 

Colors - Mas Grey / Coyote Brown / Ranger Green / Multi Cam  

This Pack is meant to be worn with ALICE Pack 

Reference: 

Barrel and Hatchet Training Group / Molle Monkey Tactical: Ghost Chest Rig Gens 1&2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ly5BmYPOV8

Blackhawk Commando Chest Rig 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55QwFIWODfg

Tactical Assault Panel (TAPS) Chest Rig

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gcNl6V_tpTc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4HdHcyB8Rs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1XaiYk3_Xo&t=313s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnzcSvgv9gE

Tracer Tactical Scout Chest Rig 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxvOicny9uk

Crye Precision Airlite "Recce" Rig

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjFIPYMEI1w&t=517s

[bodhrancomedy]

Chasing the Mists (Part 1) by Bodhrán M.

The seafolk had been coming for decades, but still no one could say why they chose to steal the people they did. Sometimes it seemed simple enough – all young men or all old women or children under five – but sometimes the only similarities of the captives were that all had brown eyes, or they took from every third house. Sometimes they swarmed up the beach in an unrelenting hoard, seizing and breaking and shrieking in delight. Sometimes it was done so silently, so neatly, that a man could wake in his bed to find the wife he’d clasped in his arms at nightfall gone as surely as snow in summer.

Every year it changed along with the seasons and the tactics, but two things were certain.

The seafolk came once a year and those they took were never seen again.

Odette – Ody – knew this just as everyone did. So did her mother as she trailed behind her, telling her daughter over and over as Ody purposefully restrung the little boat’s sails.

“Please, Ody. Please. No one comes back, you know that. Please just come back inside.”

Ody ignored her. The anger and sorrow and terror balled up in her chest was making her lightheaded and floaty, that core a steel anchor to her mind.

“It hurts, Ody. I know. I promise I know. We all know.”

It was true. Many of the villages up and down the coast would be grieving loved ones tonight – whether stolen or slain trying in vain to protect them.

“I lost your grandfather to them,” her mother was choking on her tears, fingers gripping the side of the boat until her scarred knuckles turned to white skulls, “my best friend, your sister… I don’t need to lose you too, Ody.”

Ody tested the rigging, the rope rough against her hands as she tugged.  

“What about your father? What about the twins? What about his mother?” At that her mother sucked in a ragged breath, swaying. “Ody, please listen to me!”

She did straighten at that, her heart stuck painfully in her windpipe. “He’d come for me, Mam.”

“Because you’re both young and foolish and in love.” Her mother reached out, pleadingly grasping Ody’s woolen sleeve.

The sleeve Locke had made. They’d spent their childhood like everyone else; weaving the fishing nets on the shores where his had always had a fineness to them no one else could match. She’d heard the elders talking once, saying how it was almost a shame he was born out here on the shifting sands and not in the city, where some grand laird or lady could have apprenticed him. The overheard conversation had made Ody guilty for days because the first thought which had gripped her tight was that she was furiously, fiercely glad he hadn’t and that the Gods had determined that he be here with her instead, together for eternity in this destitute fishing village overlooking a merciless sea.

That was a young and foolish Ody, not this one.

Not this calm, meticulous one with a knife in her belt, a ring on her finger, and a plan in her head.

“No one,” her mother begged, “no one has ever come back.”

“Then I suppose it’s time they did.”

[anotherfcknschlattsimp]

deep fried delights <3 chapter 1

schlatt meets someone (you) at the carnival in town

schlatt didn't want to go to the carnival: it was loud, everything was sticky, the games were rigged, the food was overpriced, the rides were basically held together by hopes and dreams … ugh.  he didn't want to go.

but ted did. ted wanted to go so badly that schlatt would’ve felt like a loser if he’d said no, like the worst friend ever; so, he said yes, much like when you share your food with a begging puppy.  when ted said that they could make a video out of it, schlatt was caught in an unrejectable deal!

he was right, though: loud, sticky, rigged, overpriced, dangerous- he listed the flaws to the camera as they appeared on his mental checklist as the two of them walked around, trying to decide what to do first.  should they risk their lives yet? play rigged games? play unrigged children’s games? get food so schlatt didn't get hangry? yeah. food sounded good. after all, what is a fifteen-dollar foot-long hotdog to a rich man?

they continued to walk on the uneven dirt of the park until… schlatt spotted a common, but intriguing, sight: an abandoned photobooth strip.

the people in the pictures looked so unhappy that it tugged at his heartstrings: a cocky man with obvious anger and control issues, and, next to him, the most beautiful person schlatt had ever seen, crying their heart out, and missing from the last picture…

ted snapped him out of his haze to continue the trek to the food trucks before he left schlatt alone in the crowd of people.

~~~

three years. you had been with that jackass for three years, and he had dumped you on your anniversary at the same carnival that you had gone to for your first date.  on top of that, there was then photographic evidence of the event that you were sure he was gonna go jerk off to for the rest of time.  oh, well, you still had a bunch of points to spend and you weren’t sure if you’d go next year, so you figured that you may as well hit everything you can; 

it was time to collect your thoughts in line for the ferris wheel. the thought alone sparked a feeling of dread at the memory of your parents playing a “prank” on you by shaking the car and telling you that it was gonna break under you. ugh.  and if worst had come to worst? if the wheel broke, you’d sue and use the money to start a bakery or something.  you could plan your tactical strategy for hitting every game on the way out in order to be as fast as possible in the long, long line. 

when you had gotten about halfway through the line, you noticed a man gawking at you.  thoughts raced through your mind: should I call security? maybe he’ll go away if i ignore him.  you took out your phone and continued deleting all of the pictures and videos of you and he-who-shall-not-be-named, so that you didn’t have to do it later when you’d break down at home.  

god, the man was too tall to just stare at people like that. slenderman-esque, you thought.

~~~

fans.  everywhere.  they swarmed ted and schlatt like piranhas swarm to a drop of blood; it was utterly horrifying to experience, as always.  so, he slipped away as soon as he could, leaving the rest of the crowd he didn’t get to, to eat ted alive. he’d attend ted’s funeral if they found his remains. 

he had about ten to fifteen minutes until he had to reconnect with ted.  what should i do when i don’t even wanna be here? he thought. he walked around aimlessly for a minute before he noticed someone, someone familiar - you!

it was you, the beautiful person from the photo strip! he took the strip out of his pocket to compare: you were even prettier when you weren’t crying your heart out. schlatt felt something in his chest try to fly away, uncomfortable yet intriguing.

he weighed his options: either give you the pictures and get a chance to talk to you (but also risk you getting upset at the sight), or he could walk away then and there and hope that you hadn’t called security for the giant man that was staring at you for the past minute.

you had made eye contact, and his dumb fucking heart decided to take control, his feet carrying him forward.  he had felt way braver than he had any right being at the moment.

“hey, i, uh, found this…” he got lost in your eyes for a second before shaking his head and continuing, “thought you might want it back.”  he very quickly realized you probably didn’t want pictures of what looked like a horrible moment.  “i- i mean, i’m sorry, uhh… you probably don’t-” 

he looked up from his shoes when he heard a sniffle.

tag list: @xoxoave @sonnyjune @jschladderall @manticore-fangs

reviewed by: @manticore-fangs and @jschladderall

edited by: @jschladderall

AAAAAAAA I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT

[enjoythesilentworld]

was thinking about them yesterday. and by them i mean CrimeBoss!Wille x Detective!Simon who definitely don't hate each other.

rather than plotting i wrote this standalone scene which assumes i have done a lot of plotting. it was a mind exercise okay (also, this is a dark-ish fic. cw for violence and harsh language)

By now, Simon knew the path and followed it without a second thought, bursting through the door of Wilhelm’s office.

The office always looked the same. Perfectly organized, floors squeaky clean, Wilhelm in a pressed button-up sitting rigged backed at his desk. Except, this time it was different. The desk was chaos, loose bills and papers and trash scattered across it and falling onto the floor. Wilhelm paced the room, tie loose and hair mussed.

His sharp eyes found Simon immediately, and if Simon didn’t know any better he’d be terrified of the way they hardened and narrowed.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Wilhelm spit angrily, striding across the room and pulling the door shut behind Simon, then flying over to the windows to pull the thick, expensive curtains closed. “I told you I was busy today.”

Simon scoffed and dropped the overflowing folder which had brought him over here onto the ground, clippings of news headlines and police reports scattering. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re busy. What is this?” He asked, still fuming and really not in the mood to deal with Wilhelm’s erratic behavior and empty promises. 

It was as if he hadn’t spoken at all, though, because Wilhelm didn’t respond, just continued to flit around the room, peeking behind the curtains. Only for a moment did his eyes flicker to the papers Simon had dropped, before looking up to Simon, then away again. Being ignored after everything, after coming all the way over here, only made Simon angrier.

“Wilhelm,” he growled, circling the office and trying to get in the other man’s path, trying to get him to look at him. When that didn’t work, he changed tactics, lowering his voice and softening it, to whisper, “Wille.”

That worked, because of course it did, and Wilhelm stopped in his tracks, finally turning to face Simon.

“What is going on?” Simon asked, softly, as if speaking to a dangerous animal. In a way, he was. “You said—”

“I said,” Wihelm interrupted, taking a step towards Simon, eyes ablaze, “don’t come here today.”

Simon held his ground. He crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the way he felt out of place in his hoodie and jeans, as he always did when he stepped into Wilhelm’s life. There was nowhere for him to go, anyway. Going against every bit of training he’d ever received, he’d accidentally put Wilhelm between himself and the only exit. If he stepped back now, he’d only run into the big, wooden desk, trapping himself further.

Simon drew his features up into a scowl, because any fear was being smothered out by anger, and said, “Apologies if your word doesn’t really mean a lot to me right now.”

This, he could do. This was normal for them. What wasn’t normal was the way Wilhelm’s features softened as he took another step forward. His hand twitched at his side, and for a moment Simon thought Wille might reach out for him.

He didn’t. Wille’s eyes flickered over to the window again, then he whispered, in a voice almost unrecognizable, “You can’t be here right now. Why couldn’t you just listen to me for once?”

With a pang, Simon realized what was so odd about Wille’s voice. Fear. There was fear, actual fear, laced amongst the words. Simon had never seen Wilhelm show an ounce of fear before.

It disarmed Simon, dampening the flame in his chest, filling it instead with an icy dread.

“I just—”                                                                                                       

Simon was cut off, surprised, as Wille put both his hands up, eyes wide, and took another step toward him.

It all happened so quickly. The first to register was the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the long hallway and muffled voices. Then, Wille was surging towards him, yanking at the buttons of his own shirt, then pulling Simon’s hood over his head and pushing him back into the desk. Simon started to protest but was cut off again by Wille pressing their mouths together in a searing kiss.

Caught by surprise, Simon froze for a moment, and Wille pulled back slightly to mumble an apology, then his hands were snaking around Simon’s waist, hands hot even through the fabric of Simon’s hoodie, and he found himself wondering what those hands would feel like on his bare skin. This time, Simon was more prepared. This time, though he still didn’t really know what was going on, he kissed Wille back.

All of this had elapsed in about five seconds so there was not much time to ponder, but Simon had been secretly dreaming about this for weeks now. Wille’s lips on his, his taste, his hair between Simon’s fingers. It was better than any dream, but quickly over, as the door slammed open behind Wille.

Simon tried to jump back, to separate them, but Wille held him close.

“Wilhelm.”

Though he couldn’t see anything but Wille’s face still just an inch from his, Simon recognized that voice. It sent a chill running down his spine. If there had been any concern that making out with his primary person of interest might mean losing his job at the precinct, it was gone now. Now, it was sheer terror at the prospect of losing his life.

“Gentleman,” Wilhelm chuckled easily, eyes still locked on Simon’s, using his broad back to shelter Simon from the line of sight of their new guests. “You’ve caught me in the middle of something.”

The voice was Wilhelm again, so easily slipping back into his cold, unforgiving exterior. His eyes, however, were still Wille. Pleading for Simon to stay quiet, promising he’d handle the situation.

That cold voice came again. “That’s funny. We said six o’clock, did we not?”

“We did, boss,” came another, this voice unrecognizable to Simon, but its owner was undoubtedly just as deadly.

Wilhelm’s shoulder’s tensed every so slightly, imperceptible to anyone else but Simon, who felt the muscles tighten under his fingertips.

“That’s right, we did. I apologize for the delay.” Wille swiped his thumb back and forth over Simon’s back, which would almost be comforting if not for their current situation. “Lost track of time. If you’ll just give me a moment to get myself sorted, I’ll met you in the foyer.”

A loud, smoker’s chortle echoed through the room, and Simon had to fight not to flinch.

“Wilhelm, you dirty dog. If she’s a good time, send her to me afterwards, yeah? I don’t usually go for the street type, but after a good scrub down, I bet it’d be just like one of those high end whores. But cheaper.”

Simon wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, but his only lifeline at the moment was staring into Wille’s, so he didn’t. He swallowed down the bile in his throat and prayed for this moment to be over, chided himself for being so terrified when this was his job, dealing with people like this was his career and yet he was nearly trembling in Wille’s arms. Perhaps it was because he’d seen those police reports, seen the photos of what this man did to those who did not please him. If Simon wasn’t only fearing for his own life, he was fearing for Wille’s, too.

The voice hardened again, losing all it’s disgusting amusement from before, “I’m leaving in two minutes. I won’t wait any longer.”

“Yes, sir,” Wilhelm said, voice steady.

There was a final, “You can fuck her after,” snickered by one of the goons before the door slammed shut again.

Wilhelm glanced over his shoulder to ensure they were gone, then shut his eyes and let out a deep breath, dropping his chin to his chest. Simon’s fingers were still knotted in Wilhelm’s shirt, and it took a moment before he could make his brain send the signal to make his hands let go. The moment he did, Wilhelm regained his composure, like flipping a switch, and quickly took two steps back.

Simon opened his mouth to say something but immediately shut it when he say the hardness in Wilhelm’s gaze. Spots of warmth still burned on Simon’s skin where Wille’s hands had been, but he couldn’t put it together with the man who stared at him now.

“Stay here,” Wilhelm commanded. He rebuttoned his shirt and straightened his hair, then he slipped out the door, leaving Simon sitting on his desk, cheeks flushed, staring at the horrible headlines scattered across the marble floor and wondering how this whole situation had gotten so out of hand.

[jackkandersonn]

Check out this great blog on optimizing your chest rig setup for any adventure. Learn how to choose the right gear, organize it efficiently, and enhance your performance in the field. Don't miss these essential tips!💯

[desolatespring]

head empty, just thinking about trying to play a rigged drinking game with yan chrollo so he’ll get drunk and you can escape but it backfires completely

Mont la Salle

Ooh I love this idea! I’ve only written one other yandere work before so bear with me on this one 😭

CW: blood/light gore, mentions of alcohol, implied kidnapping, religious imagery, implied female reader, and Chrollo being Chrollo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sit on the steps leading up to the altar, the torn carpet doing nothing to shield you from the cold and rotting wood beneath.

“I offered you a seat next to me.” Chrollo remarks when he sees you shiver once again. Leering over your shoulder you see him sprawled on the priests celebrant chair behind you. His legs extended outwards before him. He seems almost pleasantly surprised when you stand up and walk towards him, his posture straightening in response.

“I’ll make a deal with you.” Short, sweet, and to the point was the best way you’ve found to communicate with Chrollo. The less you said the less he had to pick apart and dissect. “If you can make yourself useful and pick a lock for me, I will sit with you.”

Chrollo tilts his head in thought, most likely trying to figure out if unlocking anything will offer you a means of escape. When he finds no way of it aiding you he stands up. “Lead the way.”

He follows you to the church’s ambry; two full bottles of garnet tinted sacramental wine sat collecting dust behind the locked door. Chrollo shakes his head with a curt laugh. “You bribe me so you can steal altar wine. Have I corrupted you, dear?”

You cross your arms over your chest and purse your lips. “Are you opening it or not?” Another tactic you’ve found useful when asking for something of Chrollo is to be blunt. He’s less likely to tease you when you’ve been forthcoming, and you suspect, he’s intrigued by your boldness. Not many people are willing to try and push their limits with him.

Chrollo presses his hand lightly against your temple as he plucks a bobby-pin from your hair. He straightens the pin and makes quick work of picking the lock. Once opened he grabs a bottle of wine and brings it back to the altar. His eyes skirt across the label and he seems satisfied with his findings. He fishes a small blade from his pocket, the sharpened piece of silver pops the cork out with ease.

Chrollo places his right hand on the small of your back and ushers you towards his chair. Sitting down with the now opened, aged bottle of wine in hand, Chrollo deftly pulls you onto his lap. Clearly taking full advantage of your agreed upon seating arrangement. You’re unable to hide your grimace when the hand on your back snakes around and finds its home on your waist.

“I hope you like pomegranate and plum, my love.” The wine sounds almost as sickeningly sweet as the pet name. As the bottle reaches Chrollo’s lips you can’t help but piece together some noteworthy information.

There’s enough wine here to get him at least a little buzzed no matter how high his tolerance is, there’s no other troupe members around, and you aren’t currently confined with any restraints. If you’re going to make a break for it this may be your only chance.

You’re so deep in thought it takes you a moment to notice him passing you the bottle. You look up and see the deep cherry red it’s staining his lips. If any other personality were attached to the man before you, you might’ve been tempted to lick it off. The porcelain skin, grey pouty eyes, and shaggy black hair were enough to pull you in when you’d first met.

Now you’re stuck forcing a smile before taking a few small sips. Only drink enough to feel confident in your plan.

As the first bottle slowly empties, the vast majority of it going to Chrollo, you feel his fingertips creep along the fishnets under your shorts, gently tugging and slipping under them when he pleases. He always gets so handsy after a few drinks. You will yourself not to push his hand away, as it’ll only reveal how little you’ve had to drink if you start resisting him now.

When the second bottle is opened you take a few more sips, slightly bigger this time. Being so close to him you realize you underestimated how much you’d need to drink to build any semblance of courage.

When Chrollo’s eyelids droop the slightest amount and the touches on your thigh become less coordinated, now fueled with more hunger than passion, you excuse yourself to the restroom. You’re painfully aware he’ll only allow himself to get so inebriated in front of you, never wanting to lose his self control. This is the closest to an opportunity you’ll ever receive.

You climb from off his lap, and begin heading for the narrow staircase that leads to the bathroom, making sure to give your most convincing stumble along the way. Once the door to the stairwell shuts behind you, you drop the act and move quickly to the bathroom while still keeping your footfalls and breathing as soft as possible.

Now inside you shut the door. Clicking both the dead bolt and knob lock into place. You immediately head for the window which is just above eye level. To your relief the glass has already been shattered presumably due to the weather or past vandals, leaving only the screen intact. Picking up the largest shard of glass you can find, you hastily cut a hole in the screen before grabbing onto the windowsill and hoisting yourself up.

The sharp glass stings as it cuts into your palms but you ignore the pain to the best of your ability, knowing you only have so much time to act. Your arms shake as you pull yourself up and through the window. Cool mossy pavement offers your burning hands enough relief for you to pull the rest of your body through, careful not to cut yourself any further.

Once you’ve crawled out you stand up on the concrete, pausing just long enough to retrieve the glass shard from earlier and give the briefest look around to ensure Chrollo isn’t already outside and waiting for you. Feeling as if the coast is clear you begin running at a full sprint towards the woods, thinking it’ll hide you the best. You occasionally stumble over your own two feet as they refuse to move as fast as you’d like.

As you break through the tree line the first tendrils of hope begin to seep into you. There’s no way he can see you with the branches shrouding your figure.

Your right leg comes forward to jump over a fallen log and your hope vanishes just as quickly as it came. You gasp as your back hits the hard forest floor, leaves doing nothing to cushion your blow. By the time your lungs are ready to take in air again Chrollo’s already hoisting you off the ground and tossing you over his shoulder.

The speed at which everything unfolded leaves your neck stiff and your head reeling. It isn’t until you go to stab at him with the glass you realize you dropped it in your fall. With the last bit of fight you have left in you, you punch and thrash in Chrollo’s grasp, clawing at anything you fingers come in contact with.

Chrollo remains silent as he carries you effortlessly back towards the church despite all your frantic thrashing. By the time he gets you inside the cuts on your palms have reopened and your finger nails are chipped and bleeding from the strength you were using to scratch at him.

Chrollo less than gracefully pulls you off of his shoulder, gripping both your wrists in one of his hands, the other opening the door to the confessional booth before shutting himself in it with you. He places you on the bench, effectively holding you in place before leaning closer to you. “Now why don’t you start by telling me exactly what you had planned? And don’t forget to ask for my forgiveness.”

[goatsludge]

Workin on the last batch of Delta Force AK-Style Chest Rigs before the big break

[cs-fox]

DELUGE | SIMON RILEY X Y/N

Rain pounded down in the cold city streets of Chicago, turning the pathways into rivers within seconds. The downpour blurred the edges of skyscrapers and muddled the grey horizon, providing the perfect backdrop for lightning to split the sky.

Lieutenant Simon Riley’s boots threw up droplets of water as he walked, slapping on the pavement as him and his second-in-command, y/n, moved swiftly through the deluge.

The mission had been tough, but neither had expected this sudden desertion, radio silence, and need for shelter from the rain.

Simon glanced over his shoulder at y/n. She was breathing heavily, but her eyes retained all of their focus. It was something Simon admired about her - that she could keep her cool, no matter the situation.

‘You think we’re going to make it to the safehouse alive?’ y/n asked in a low voice, her tone carrying that signature dry humour their banter often contained.

Simon didn’t answer immediately, his mind running over their options. The prospect of dying on this mission, at y/n’s side… seemed a little to real.

The rain continued to pound down, and barely a block away from the safehouse, a bright light flashed once, then twice, right into the Lieutenant’s eyes.

He winced, then his heart stopped.

‘Move.’

One strong, gloved hand gripped y/n’s collar and yanked her to his side, pulling her sideways until they were both crammed into a tiny alleyway - or, more akin to a crevice - in between two buildings.

The searchlight swept over the street the two had just frequented; followed by a team of four soldiers wearing dark tactical gear. The men walked past slowly, sweeping their gun-mounted torches over walls and through open doors, creating pools of white light on the surfaces on either side of the alley.

Simon held his breath, one hand still grasped firmly in y/n’s collar, the other trying to decide whether it should rest on her waist, or remain limply by the Lieutenant’s side.

Y/n let out a soft breath as he shifted himself, and her fingertips rested on the stock of his sidearm as another patrol passed their hiding spot. 

Briefly, her hand brushed her Lieutenant’s thigh, but it jerked away before Simon could take any pleasure from the act. When he studied y/n’s face, he could glean a tiny hint of redness tinting her cheeks, which served enough for a tiny smirk to grace his lips beneath the mask.

She must’ve noticed, her keen gaze paying attention to the crinkle of the skin around his eyes, because she muttered a quiet apology. ‘Sorry, sir.’

He chuckled quietly, a rich, gravelly sound that he knew made her knees weak.

‘No need, Sergeant.’

She turned her head away in a fraction of a nod, as quietly as possible. It seemed the patrols had passed, the sound of footsteps fading into the drumming of the rain.

Simon allowed a quiet sigh to slip from between his lips.

Despite being soaked to the bone from the pouring rain, he continued to hold y/n in that tiny crevice - his hand had worked up the courage to take it’s place on her waist, after all. It sat there, fitting perfectly underneath her bulky chest rig, to slowly trace circles onto the fabric covering her abdomen.

Her could feel her relax against his chest, slowly giving in to the sensation of his hand working it’s way slowly underneath her shirt.

Tsk, tsk. That’s what she gets for not tucking in her shirt.

Slowly, he started to get more bold, his strong fingers pushing down the waistline of her fatigues, slipping underneath her belt.

y/n made a soft noise in the back of her throat, pupils dilating as she suddenly grew tense once more.

‘Just relax…’ Simon said quietly, his voice a husky purr in her ear - she could not so much hear his voice as feel it, both through the exquisite sensation of his hot breath on her neck to the deep timbre rumbling through her very soul and turning her body to putty. 

Y/n’s hand slid from the handle of his pistol to slip beneath the holster’s straps, her index and ring finger now pressed against his muscular thigh.

A rumbling noise arose in Simon’s throat; only prompting y/n’s hand to explore further - now finding it’s place on his neck, her fingers just - just - brushing the roughened dark canvas of that infamous skull mask.

His eyes bored into hers, dark brown irises seeming to swallow her up; right into the darkness reflected in them.

The sound of the storm seemed to fade away, eventually dulling to the sound of Simon’s heart throwing itself against his ribcage.

Her face was dangerously close to his. Simon’s hands only momentarily left her waist to hook underneath his mask; carefully lifting the fabric to rest on the bridge of his crooked nose, only exposing his lips and chin to her. Though, it didn’t give her any less to stare at - Simon watched appreciatively as her eyes roamed over the newly uncovered skin - taking in his scars, the three-day stubble he’d been far too busy to shave, and of course, his lips. Her grey eyes lingered there for a while.

He was so close to her, he could see the raindrops gathering in her eyelashes and sliding down her cheeks, small droplets of water making the scar crossing the bridge of her nose shine like it was newly cut.

He didn’t ask for permission. From the look in her eyes, he knew he didn’t need to. It only took a spare second of leaning closer until his lips were pressed against hers.

She gasped into his mouth; the sound was quickly muffled by his tongue, prodding at her lower lip greedily. Y/n let him in, her chest heaving slightly as the kiss wore on, her gloved hands finding their way onto his chest. His hand tilted her head upwards, at just the right angle for his mouth to almost completely cover hers, making a sweet sound slip from her throat once more.

He pulled away slowly, studying her dilated pupils, reddish cheeks, and kiss-swollen lips.

‘My God, y/n,’ he murmured.

‘We should - ’ she swallowed thickly. ‘We should get out of here.’

______________________________________________________________

sorry for like, abusing the words y/n. i promise i can write better than this lmao

!! not proofread !!

ty xx

[vasyandii]

NAK GEAR REFERENCES (+ ADDITIONAL INFO)

🦐 Creator Note: When I designed Nak, I took into account that Activision often used actual gear for their operators, in turn I did the same :D

The Components Beforehand

PLATE CARRIER

VISM Discreet Plate Carrier by NcSTAR

This specific plate carrier is simplistic, I felt that if her gear looked too detail heavy it would be difficult to draw, plus make her design look clustered

CHEST RIG

Barska VX-400 Tactical Chest Rig

I chose this one because of the ridges on the straps! They remind me of scales so they fit with her Serpent look :D

ARM STRAPS

T3 Tactical Armband

These are put usually on the forearms! Nak uses them for her upper arms though. One arm is for maps, one arm is for Indentification like her blood type, occupation, handler info etc.

CLOTHING

Propper CWU 27/P Nomex Flight Suit

Nak wears a flight suit for comfort! Hidden pockets are also a big plus. I felt that if she wore a flight suit, it would be a good way for me to stay consistent with her design since it's very reliable!

HOLSTER

Rothco Deluxe Leg Strap Adjustable Tactical Holster

On the occasion Nak doesn’t have access to the FN SCAR (her baby) she uses a Glock 19X, being the type to prefer heavy or “luxury” weapons

GLOVES

Giro LA DND Biker Gloves

They have reinforced fingertips! So she’s able to use touchscreen items :3

KNEEPADS

Blackhawk Advanced Tactical Knee Pads V2

Because of her upbringing, Nak’s Legs are the strongest parts of her body, so she takes extra caution in making sure nothing happens to them!

FOOTWEAR

Rothco G.I. Type Sierra Sole Tactical Boots

She chose these because she thinks they’re stylish “Aren’t they cute?”

UNDER ARMOUR

in order; VISM Strike Face Ballistic Plate, DAS Leben Protective Arm Sleeves Guard Bracer, KEZZELED Welding Neck Protector

Because of her learned paranoid personality, she wears arm guards and a neck protector under her flight suit as a precaution. The ballistic plate comes with her plate carrier :)

CUSTOMIZATION

Her bandana is just a green cloth she bleached to make a snake pattern. Being in Chimera, a lot of the operators have patches of their unit! Nak usually puts hers on her holster, but it’s bound to move around on her gear. The serpent fangs markings on her plate carrier are in reference to Naga, a custom Patch that’s removable as well :3